Please Let Me Give Up
by The . L O S T . Paperclip
Summary: Just an Arena oneshot I thought up while playing. Very gruesome, and very morbid. Don't like blood, don't read.


_Just an idea for a oneshot when I was in the Arena. Pretty short, and pretty morbid... anyway. Here it is. Imagine it in your head, like a movie. It's better that way; or I think so, at least._

**Please Let Me Give Up**

Here I am.

It's a fight to the death, no? Well, there are always the skeptics out there that believe it's all flashy moves and tomato sauce. The combatants meet afterwards for a drink at the Inn, congratulating each other for the good show. They're not interested.

Then there are the rabid fanatics who love to see innocent blood spilled. And they go wild when someone deviates from the norm - for example, a wood elf that competed a few months ago lost her weapon in the battle. She ripped her opponent's throat out with her teeth when she was pinned against a pillar. They love that kind of stuff, as long as it's not their own lives on the line.

And then there are people like me. The poor wanderers that are looking for enough coin to keep the clothes on their backs. Just an old iron mace, and the arena battle raiment to keep my opponent's blade from fatally piercing my soft, vulnerable flesh. But I want more from life. I refuse to be reduced to becoming a common beggar.

I know I won't survive much longer in the wilderness. There isn't enough game roaming the grounds, and my favourite merchant has recently suffered from a severe head wound in a tavern brawl. He gave me the best deals there were - we were friends. No one else wanted to buy from me. They sad I was too young to have caught the boar. Too small to have killed it with a mace. They thought I had stolen the hide, and I couldn't find anyone who would buy it.

This is the only option for me now. I know I can do this. So I thank the Blademaster solemnly, and take my leave. I'm ready.

The gate creaks open, revealing my path to the arena. It is covered in blood. The thick, putrid stench of death and decay fills my nostrils, and I have to stop myself from retching.

I open the door to the arena and step outside. It's raining. Lightning crashes overhead, and I curse myself silently. I just _had _to choose this, of all days. Fighting in the rain is going to be difficult. The door clicks shut behind me, and I hear the lock slam into place. I take a deep breath and approach the holding pen.

"Welcome to the arena!" A disembodied voice echoes through the tunnel behind me, and the crowd cheers. "Please give..." His voice is just noise. Unimportant. I tune it out, readying myself for whatever is to come next. I can't see my opponent clearly; the rain is too heavy and they are hiding in the shadows of their pen. Coward.

The fence creaks, and I am suddenly hyper-aware of my surroundings. Fear builds in my chest, knotting my limbs to a standstill. I can't move. But I must! This is my only chance!

The Nord comes running, battleaxe in hand, eyes fearful. He hasn't killed someone before, and a fight like this is new to him. I know I have the upper hand.

I force my legs to move, and reach the open arena. Death lingers here; I can feel it. The rain pounds around me, and all I can hear is my heart thudding in my chest. My ears are filled with the sound, drowning out all else. _Thud... Thud... Thud..._

Metal clashes, and I struggle to keep the battleaxe away from my face. I manage to push it aside and counter with a swing of my mace. That was too close. We're only seconds in, and I already could have had my head rended from my shouldersin one swift blow. Fear crawls up my spine like ice, setting in my limbs. But I continue with the attack. The Nord blocks, and I am forced backwards. We stare at each other for a moment, but it is the longest moment of my life. And for a second I see something I never wanted to see in the eyes of my enemy.

_Remorse._ The Nord doesn't want to kill me. He wishes there were another way.

And so do I.

But I shove that thought away. _There is only one way out of this,_ I think to myself harshly. _You have to kill him._

My opponent recovers and swings at me, and I'm not ready. I stumble backwards, but not before a long, thin gash is opened from shoulder to waist. I cry out in shock, but that's all. The pain hasn't reached me yet, so I am still fighting. But I realise with horror that my left arm is too slow to use my weapon properly. He had severed a vital nerve.

We run in for the attack again, my vision blurred from rain and... tears?

I'm crying. My body has betrayed me yet again, and I curse myself for showing weakness.

I miss. And the Nord hits me dead-on. Waves of agony shatter my defences, and I drop my weapon, trembling. I stagger backwards and fall to my knees, fire jolting my chest and neck. The rain mixes with my blood and tears, creating a scene that the crowd can't help but cheer for. If only they knew the pain I am going through now. I feel like I'm dying...

Then again, I probably am.

I hear a war cry and manage to open my eyes. I am beyond horrified at what I see.

The battleaxe is lodged in my collarbone, blood spurting from the wound. I can feel the metal grating against bone, and clench my teeth in agony. Cries and growls of pain, like that of an animal, rip from my throat and through my teeth. It is not a menacing sound - If anything, it's pathetic. I'm half-screaming and half-sobbing. The Nord reaches me, and I notice with terror that the remorse is gone, replaced by a hard determination. I crawl on my hands and knees through the mud towards the holding pen, leaving a trail of my own blood in my wake. Grit gathers in my wounds and the stinging is unbearable.

I use the wall to pull myself to my feet, but am forced back down when my opponent rips the battleaxe out of my collarbone. I scream. He is about to bring it back down upon me, but I drag myself out of the way, left arm now completely useless. I can't hold a weapon any more. I clutch at the wall and propel myself away. But I'm not fast enough. I hear a ripping, shattered sound and notice with horror that it is me. Screaming.

I blubber and stutter, aimed at the Nord, but I can't seem to form coherent words through my pain. _P-please..._ My nose is running and I feel sick and lightheaded from loss of blood. I spit and scream and stagger and flail, but nothing I do makes sense to me any more. _I-I g..._

The axe comes down again, and I can no longer feel my right arm. It had been ripped from my body. Lightning crashes, illuminating the face of my opponent. It is covered in blood. _My_ blood.

I turn and throw myself at the door I had come through, hoping someone can hear me... "P-h-huuh P-pleeas-se-!" I stutter and sob and whimper, words slurred through the pain and tears.

My blood stains the wood, but no one comes. No one cares.

I fall into a painful heap of raw flesh and crimson regret, sobbing painfully. My forehead is against the door, and I am still screaming. I want out. I want to give up. I don't want to die. _Please..._

"N-no! N-n-yaaaah!" I don't know what I'm trying to say. All I can hear is my own shrieking. I can't think. I can't see. I can't move.

The axe comes down again.

The crowd cheers.


End file.
